Super Dark 1 (Super Dark Trilogy)

Chapter 3 - The Game

All Star Bowling Alley was located on Elmfield High Street at the end of a long line of family-owned businesses. It was sort of a converted warehouse and, except for the neon sign out front, it wasn’t anything special to look at. Inside, however, was a whole different story.

When you walked through the door, the place was decked out like a ‘50s American diner. Very swanky. On one side there was the bowling alley and a reception area where people checked in. On the other side was a bar with a half dozen tables where they served real American food all night: ribs, burgers, fried chicken, and corn on the cob.

I got there about six. Instead of my baggies I’d opted for a Fred Perry shirt and chinos—nothing too flashy, but a step up from the usual. Tonight, for some reason, I felt like making more of an effort. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I no longer felt self-conscious about people recognizing me. I decided that, tonight, I was going to be myself—and to hell with the consequences.

Becky and the others were waiting for me over by the reception area. I recognized a couple of people from St. Mary’s: Jermaine, Marie, and sour-faced Hannah. I assumed the others were friends of Becky’s from outside school. There were about fourteen of us—but Lee and Frasier hadn’t arrived yet.

Damn. I hope they’re still coming. I don’t like being stuck with a group of strangers.           

“Hey, Sam!” Becky shouted, rushing up to me. “So glad you could make it. I love the new look. That shirt is so cute on you! Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

She took my hand and led me toward the group of strangers. As she reeled off the names, I studied Becky closely. It looked as if I wasn’t the only who had decided to make an extra effort—but Becky’s was off the Richter scale. Her makeup was so heavy there were obvious lines of foundation between her face and neck. Her lips were shiny and her bleached blonde hair was swept up off her face in a French pleat. To top it off, her pink shorts were so tight they looked as if they were going to split any second.

“Come on,” she said after the introductions. “Let’s get you some shoes and a ball. And don’t worry about paying for the game—I’ve already settled that for you. But you’ll still need change for the cloakroom.”

"Oh, right,” I said, rummaging through my pockets.

I finally found some money, paid the girl at the desk, then handed her my coat.

“What shoe size are you?” Becky inquired.

“Four,” I replied.

“Wow, your feet are so tiny! I’m a clod-hopping size eight.” She scanned the rows of cubbyholes behind the desk, which contained dozens of pairs of red, blue, and white paneled shoes. “Can we have a pair of size fours, please?” As the girl went away to get them, Becky’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Do you think he’s coming?”

“Who?”

“Lee. It’s quarter to seven and there’s still no sign of him. I did tell him six o’clock, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Becky bit her lip as her eyes darted around the room. “Oh, I hope he doesn’t let me down. I really want to see him again.”

Before I could say anything, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned around and saw Frasier standing behind me. His face was sweaty, as if he’d run a marathon, and there were damp patches under the arms of his camel trench coat. On his feet were what looked suspiciously like black-and-white tap shoes. Typical Frasier.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he panted. “The bus broke down and I had to run like a lunatic to get here.”

Becky shook her head. “Well, at least you got here.”